


Invasion Day

by servantofclio



Series: Sewers to Stars [18]
Category: Mass Effect, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day the Reapers come to Earth, April O’Neil has more warning than anyone else in New York.</p><p>Or, April, Casey, and the turtles deal with an overpowering alien invasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a little while back, and somehow forgot to ever post it to AO3. Now it's here where it belongs with the rest of its continuity!

The day the Reapers come to Earth, April O’Neil has more warning than anyone else in New York, though only by a few seconds.

 

It’s early afternoon, she’s at work in her lab, one eye to the microscope, peering at the sample in front of her, when something impinges on her consciousness. Something—vast, some sensation or emotion so alien to her perceptions that she has no name for it, no comprehension of what it is—it registers, nearly, as a blank spot in her awareness of the world around her. April gasps, her hand jostling the adjustment knob, so her view through the scope swims out of focus.

 

“April?” says Maricruz from her own station a few feet away. “Everything okay?”

 

April straightens up and takes a step back from her work, which has suddenly become irrelevant. She knows this with a sick lurch. She licks her lips, wondering what she can say to Maricruz to explain. They haven’t known each other long, it’s only a couple of months since the other woman started at the lab, short and round and scarily competent, not even long enough for Maricruz to wonder why she’s never laid eyes on April’s occasionally-mentioned boyfriend. April says, “I—”

 

There’s a roar from outside the building, and a crash, and that’s when the screaming starts. April shudders and closes her eyes, trying to center herself against the onslaught of other people’s fear, and her own.

 

“What the hell?” Maricruz demands, and starts toward the door. Their lab is windowless; the nearest windows are in the little lounge outside, with the coffee machine and their lockers. April’s already heading that way herself.

 

In Vancouver, on the other side of the continent, the Reapers descend through a cloudless sky, making a mockery of the sparkling sun with their destructive bulk.

 

In New York, the sky is overcast, so what April sees through the tenth-floor window is the legs—tentacles?—dropping through the clouds, long, black, curled, the vast bulk of the Reaper itself mostly hidden from view.

 

April’s watched the footage of Sovereign’s attack, though, and she recognizes them with a sick lurch. Two steps take her toward her locker, her eyes still fixed on the window, even while one set of legs uncurl, fanning out like great sinister fingers, and a red beam lances from the center of them, slicing through the building across the street. It shatters with a crashing of glass and the groaning of steel, sending up a cloud of ash that billows into the sky, darker than the clouds already there. Another spiral of fear and pain and anger lances through her awareness; April grits her teeth against it and turns away to yank the locker open. Weapons, snacks, medi-gel, and phone, which rings for an incoming message as soon as she has it in her hand. A split second’s glance is enough to tell her who’s calling, and with fumbling fingers she fits the tiny device into her ear. “I’m all right,” she says breathlessly as soon as the connection clicks on.

 

“Where are you?” Donnie demands, voice tight and anxious.

 

“At work.”

 

“You should get out.” There’s a brief pause. “We’re on our way to you.”

 

“Okay,” she says, and tries to harden herself against the continuing waves of panic and confusion, and her own selfish sense of relief. “Meet you soon.”

 

Maricruz has gone to her own locker, stripping off her white lab coat, grabbing a small pack and a pistol, of all things. “Your boyfriend?” she asks as she straps on the holster with practiced ease.

 

“Yeah.” April can’t take her eyes off of the gun. “They let you bring that in here?”

 

“I have a permit, and it stays in my locker.” Maricruz tightens the strap and draws the weapon. It looks ridiculously large in her hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we should get out of here.”

 

“Yeah.” April wavers and then makes a decision. “It’s Reapers. Like the attack on the Citadel three years ago.”

 

“What?” Maricruz slams the locker shut and turns her face her, dark eyes narrowing. “Like that crazy commander said? No way, O’Neil.”

 

April flings her arm toward the window. “You got a better explanation?” It feels disloyal to let the ‘crazy’ comment go, but she trusts Shepard will forgive her. Assuming they ever see each other again.

 

Maricruz’s whole expression tightens. “Maybe,” she concedes, grudgingly. “Let’s just get out of here. If they’re blowing up buildings—”

 

“Yeah,” April agrees.

 

She can hear other footsteps pounding in the stairwell, as they charge down. The echoes off the metal and concrete don’t tell her whether the steps come from above or below, but they don’t pass anyone. Maricruz, though shorter, keeps pace with April easily.

 

As they reach the ground level, there’s more screaming.

 

The exterior door is propped open by a fallen body—Rob from security, April recognizes in a blurred moment—and outside is a moving mass of blue. One individual separates from the mass, yanking the door further open, glaring at them with cold cybernetic eyes and mouth distorted into a permanent grimace. April’s own mouth falls open, and beside her Maricruz fires twice, and the thing seems to snarl at them as it drops.

 

Shepard had described them, but the descriptions don’t compare to the reality. Human bodies, twisted and altered, their flesh so threaded through with blue-glowing tech that hardly a trace of the original person remains. Less than zombies, even, distinguishing features like hair and eyes and skin color gone, muscle and sinew exposed, covered in a waxy outer sheen. Like the Reapers themselves, the husks are blank spots, radiating no emotion. April swallows and raises her weapon.

 

They have to fight their way out of the building. Maricruz shoots and April pushes, jabs, stabs; she finds she must strike at the visible cords of cybernetics rather than her usual targets, the vulnerabilities of pulse and nerve wrung out of these bodies by the Reapers’ tech. Out in the street, much of the horde of husks goes past them, after other people, screaming knots of terror, and there’s a rattle of more distant gunfire. A handful of heads swing in their direction, though, groans falling from the husks’ mouths, and they’re fighting again. The creatures’ flesh against the edge of her fan feels weird, not the right kind of resistance, and the husks are punching, clutching, nailless fingers tearing into the fabric of the white coat April never took off. “We have to keep moving,” she shouts after managing to clear a moment of space for herself.

 

Maricruz nods. “Can’t let them pin us down!”

 

April eyes the gun. “You, uh, have plenty of ammo for that?”

 

Maricruz makes a face. “I’ve had it for years. No heat sinks. Just need to let it cool.”

 

And there’s hardly any time for that, is there? April scans the street. She thinks there’s a manhole about two or three blocks away, but with the street full of husks and fleeing people, it’s seems like a mile. “Let’s go that way,” she calls. “Maybe if we can get underground—”

 

Maricruz frowns, a thinking face: “Okay.”

 

They set out, managing to get about ten feet before a husk is grabbing at April again; she slices at its throat and Maricruz finishes it with a shot to the head. “At least that works,” the other woman calls.

 

“Do me a favor,” April says, out of crawling anxiety that almost overwhelms the greater dread pounding in the back of her skull. “Don’t shoot at anything green?”

 

“Anything _green_? What?”

 

“ _Please_. Just, if you see green, don’t shoot.” April ducks under a husk’s clutching grip, slams her shoulder into its midsection, and keeps running, leaving the fallen husk behind her.

 

“Fine!” Half a step behind her, Maricruz fires at another husk. Its head explodes in a messy slurry of wires and gray-blue matter. April winces and looks away.

 

The distressed psychic aura of the city is still pressing in on her. Ahead, distant, a red beam lances across the street, burning an afterimage across April’s eyelids and starting another deep rumble. A building collapsing, she thinks, as clouds of ash billow into the street. In spite of her best efforts to wall off her mind, terror and pain hit her like a fist and a wave of nausea settles in her gut. She gasps and doubles over, bracing her hands on her knees, fighting for control.

 

“April? Are you okay?” Maricruz grabs her arm, and April almost hits her before realizing that it’s her and not a husk. “Come on, we’ve got to keep moving, you said it yourself.”

 

“I know,” April grits out, and forces herself upright, forces her watering eyes to open. She lets Maricruz pull her onward, only hoping they’re moving in the right direction. The street’s a blur, she can’t even be sure which direction they’re going any more, and a husk grabs her from the other side before she even sees it. She kicks at it, trying to force it to let go, and Maricruz swears in Spanish. April hears the report of the pistol, but dimly, her focus narrowing to trying to free herself from the grasping creature in front of her, which roars at her as it drags her closer to its open, distended mouth—

 

Its head separates from its body, in a flash of steel, the grip on April’s coat slackening. She blinks as her mind suddenly clears as well, her mental walls bolstered by familiar, focused currents. She spins to her left to grab Maricruz’s arm if she has to. The other woman has taken a step closer to April, her shoulder bumping against April’s arm, but she’s pulled the pistol up on her own, even though the turtles are in their most frightening mode: eyes flat white, teeth bared, silent, coordinated, and deadly. They clear a circle around the two women with lethal efficiency and move into guard position, braced for the next onslaught. Then Donnie turns to April and blinks, the white inner lid lifting away, revealing familiar, warm, anxious brown eyes. “April, you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she says, almost shaking with relief. Not the time or the place to grab onto him, not now, when they might both need their hands free at any moment. “Yeah. Just—” she waves one hand in the direction of her head, knowing he’ll catch her meaning.

 

He does; his mouth tightens into a grim expression, but he nods and touches her arm, the contact grounding her further into her own head.

 

“Don’t shoot at anything green, huh,” Maricruz says, looking around with astonishment.

 

April laughs, in spite of herself. “Uh. Yeah.” She performs a quick round of introductions. “What now?”

 

“Casey’s not answering,” Raph answers, short.

 

“Comms are down,” Donnie says. “I think they took out the transmitters. We have his last known location, though.”

 

“Okay,” says April, steeling herself for a new round of fighting. “Let’s go.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Casey’s last known coordinates turn out to be the ice rink where he coaches youth hockey. They avoid the husks when possible, but there are mobs of them roaming the streets, and it’s not possible to avoid them entirely. April and the turtles fall into familiar rhythms, altered only because of the sheer untiring relentlessness of the enemies they face now. Fortunately, Maricruz has good aim and chooses her shots carefully, so the six of them make it to the ice rink more or less unscathed. They skirt around to the alley behind the building and slip in through the back door, ending up in a grungy little back room, filled with trash and recycling bins. April opens the door into the interior and peers in, starting as she finds Casey only a few feet from her, hockey stick in hand. He must have been keeping watch on the entrance. “April!” he says, sounding relieved, and follows when she waves him toward the door.

 

His eyes widen as he follows her into the back room, and the first words out of his mouth are: “Shit, guys, what are you doing here?”

 

“Looking for you,” Raph retorts, arms folded. “What, you thought we weren’t going to look?”

 

“Yeah, but—” Casey looks over his shoulder and runs a hand through his mussed dark hair. “I can’t leave the kids,” he says in a low voice. “They’re—it’s not like I can just send them home.”

 

And there’s no telling whether anyone’s alive to come for them, April thinks. She doesn’t have to be a psychic to feel it as everyone tenses and the guys exchange anxious glances. Maricruz frowns.

 

“What are you thinking? Just keep them here?” Donnie asks, cautiously neutral.

 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Casey says. “We can fight, I mean, these kids are tough, and we’ve kept those zombie husk things out of here so far—”

 

“What, you’re just going to keep a bunch of kids here in an ice rink?” says Maricruz. “No way. There’s gotta be a better place—”

 

“You have any ideas?” Casey asks, not quite belligerent. “Uh, wait, do I know you?”

 

She sighs impatiently. “I’m Maricruz. I work with April. How many kids are we talking here?”

 

April pushes past Casey for a minute and steps through the inner door to get a look at what they’re dealing with. There are a couple dozen kids. She’s not good at guessing kids’ ages, but she thinks the youngest ones are maybe ten or eleven, and the oldest are probably seventeen or so. There are a handful of adults there, too; she recognizes Kate, a fellow volunteer coach and friend of Casey’s, and there are several more April doesn’t know. Everyone is scared—she can feel the fear and uncertainty dragging at her, a heavy pulse that feels like something scraping at her mind. Kate looks up and spots April, waves, and starts striding toward her; April gauges the distance, and judges they have maybe a minute before Kate reaches her and she needs to come up with some kind of explanation. She says, “Guys...”

 

The conversation behind her is growing sharper, with Maricruz arguing that they can’t just keep kids at the rink indefinitely, because it’s fucking _cold_. Donnie puts in, “The Reapers—”

 

“... or whatever they are,” says Maricruz.

 

“—the Reapers,” he repeats, raising his voice, “will likely go after concentrations of people. Small groups should be safer.”

 

“We could run interference for you while you’re on the move,” Leo says, slowly.

 

“Guys,” April breaks in, louder, as Casey and Maricruz start debating the merits of various neighborhoods. “You might want to—”

 

Kate crosses the last of the distance in a long-legged jog, though, grabbing April in a one-armed hug. “April! Hey, I’m glad you’re all right, I was wondering what was keeping Casey— whoa.” She stops still and takes a tighter grip on her hockey stick as she gets a good view of the crowd on the other side of the door. Everyone freezes in place, and April winces; for once the guys were caught too off guard to pull a disappearing act.

 

Quickly, she says, “It’s okay. These are the good guys. They’re with us.”

 

“O... kay...” Kate says, her eyes wide.

 

“Hey,” Mikey says, pushing up to stand at April’s shoulder with a broad smile. “’Sup? You a friend of Casey’s?”

 

_Thank goodness for Mikey_ , April thinks, because it’s hard for any reasonable, decent person to panic in the face of that much beaming, perfectly sincere friendliness. Kate blinks several times, but her shoulders relax as she says, “Uh... yeah.”

 

“Cool!” Mikey bounces once, beaming even wider. “You play hockey? That’s awesome!”

 

“As I was saying,” Leo says, “we can run interference and we can probably keep the husks off you, but it’ll be hard to avoid being seen—”

 

“Why does that matter?” Maricruz asks.

 

“I’d rather not freak the kids out any more than they already are,” Leo says patiently, but April can catch the thread of his discomfort, too. It’s not as if no one knows they exist—their adversaries, in particular—but the turtles have acquired friends in ones and twos, carefully and usually with much priming on the part of April or Casey or Irma or somebody else they already know. Their conditioning to stay unseen runs deep, and it’s been more than once that other people’s reactions to them have cost them.

 

Maricruz doesn’t know any of this, of course; she frowns and opens her mouth, ready to argue. April’s familiar with her prickly stubbornness. She shifts her weight, trying to think of some way to intervene in the argument that’s about to ensue, even though she’s not sure what the best course of action is.

 

She doesn’t have to make up her mind, because somebody shouts Casey’s name from the other end of the building. Kate whips around toward the sound, and April takes a few steps forward as Casey pushes his way back past her. The call’s coming from the entrance opposite where they stand, across the length of the building, where a dark-haired man is struggling to hold the door closed against an onrushing wall of grayish blue.

 

Husks, at the main entrance.

 

“Shit,” Casey says, and takes off at a run, Kate along with him. April starts off a beat later, but she knows none of them is going to make it in time, and once the husks get _in_ , they’re going to be in for a real fight—

 

But before panic takes her over entirely, she hears a familiar whoop, and Mikey shoots past her in a haze of blue, clearing the distance from door to door in the blink of an eye.

 

Everyone in the family was alarmed when Mikey developed full-blown biotics, and what he can _do_ with them tends to be unpredictable. He doesn’t even have an implant, which is supposed to be necessary for human beings to focus and control the dark energy.

 

Then again, he’s not exactly human.

 

He might not have an implant, or proper biotic training, but he’s had a lifetime of Splinter’s tutelage, and he’s always had a knack for acrobatics. The result is that he does naturally a number of things that are supposed to be fiendishly difficult—like the charge he’s doing now.

 

In full view of everyone in the rink.

 

There’s no time to worry about that now, though. April sees Mikey land, weapons whirling, sees him push back the crowd of husks pressing in at the door with blinding speed. As she runs, Raph sprints past her with a drawn-out growl, with Leo right behind him. Donnie falls into step with April as his brothers slam into the front ranks of husks. It’s close-quarters fighting, and the three of them, plus Casey, Kate, and the other man are more than able to clear a space. April and Donnie arrive in time to help shove the doors shut and barricade them. It’s all over in moments, and April takes a moment to brace her hands against her knees and catch her breath. She aches all over after fighting their way here, and her head still feels heavy and clouded with the city’s pain.

 

Casey is saying, “Whoa, take it easy, Nick, they’re friends,” and the dark-haired man at the door responds, “What the _fuck_ , Casey?”

 

April straightens. Nick looks wary, but Casey and Kate are both trying to reassure him, and Kate herself seems fine; the turtles have backed away, lowering weapons and generally trying to look inoffensive, not entirely successfully. “We figured if they saw Mikey, they might as well see all of us,” Donnie murmurs to her. “Besides, we had to get that door shut.”

 

“Right.” April squeezes his arm, taking a moment’s comfort in the contact, and turns to face the rest: a crowd of wide-eyed teenagers and the rest of the adult volunteers. To her relief, bewilderment, rather than fear, is the strongest emotion she’s getting from them, a thick prickly confusion. She can work with that, at least she hopes so, and steps forward with her hands open and a smile on her face, trying to project calm. “It’s going to be all right,” she says, as soothingly as she can. “Let’s try to figure out how to keep everyone safe, okay?”

 

It goes better than she’d hoped, honestly. Having visibly fought off the husks that they’ve been fending off intermittently for the last two hours helps. Everyone here trusts Casey, and that helps, too. Nick remains the most wary—when Casey says confidently that he’s known the guys for years, Nick’s eyes narrow and he mutters, “Is that so? You’ve got some explaining to do, Case”—but he settles down. Kate helps, too, since she’s apparently decided they’re trustworthy. And Mikey is great, especially with the younger kids, most of whom tip over from alarm or confusion to wide-eyed hero worship within a few minutes of him talking to them and demonstrating a few moves. Leo and Raph and Donnie are quietly conferring while the rest of them try to get everyone calm and focused.

 

The consensus among the adults is to split up the group, disperse everyone among all the possibly-safe locations they can think of. That should make it easier to keep everyone sheltered and fed, hopefully in groups small enough to avoid the Reapers’ interest. In some cases, they can get the kids back to their own neighborhoods, so they have some chance of finding family or friends who can help them. “We need to stay off the streets as much as possible,” Leo says. “We’ll move through the subways and sewer system instead.”

 

Several of the kids make faces at that, and there’s a small chorus of groans and “eeewwww”s.

 

“What about the... whatever those things are. Husks?” asks Nick.

 

“Most of you are armed,” Leo says, glancing around. “Defend yourselves if you have to, but keep moving. Leave the heavy fighting to us.” He speaks with that confident conviction that April’s used to taking refuge in, but there’s something astonishing about seeing these strangers accept it the same way, people nodding and relaxing as if it makes perfect sense to take instructions from an armed mutant turtle.

 

Maricruz takes over most of the organizing, as everyone packs up spare clothing and food and bottled water and weapons and medi-gel, whatever they can carry. If she has questions about her new mutant acquaintances—and April has known Maricruz long enough to know that she has to have questions—she’s not going to ask them now. They plot out a route and divide the kids up into groups, assign them to look after each other. April manages to score some ibuprofen, even though it barely takes the edge off her headache. With Maricruz, Casey, Kate, and Nick pushing everyone to move as fast as possible, they’re ready to go in about twenty minutes.

 

“This is the plan,” Leo tells April in an undertone. “You and Casey take the lead, you know the routes through the tunnels as well as we do. We’re rearguard; we’ll hold the husks off while you guys get below ground. But shout if you run into anything ahead of you you can’t handle, and we’ll be there.”

 

“Right.” She opens and closes her fan, glancing anxiously first at Donnie, then at the other turtles. They look all right, in spite of the fighting they’ve already done; only minor nicks and bruises, as far as she can see, and they look more charged up than tired. She supposes all those five- and six-hour training sessions must be good for something.

 

Leo adds, “And... is there anything... else we should know?”

 

April swallows. She’s been trying to block more than extend her other perception. “It’s... a little overwhelming right now. I’m okay,” she adds hastily. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything important.”

 

His mouth draws tight and he nods, with a brief pat on her shoulder. “Okay. Let’s move.”


	3. Chapter 3

Even with a plan, it takes hours to get everyone to some kind of refuge.

 

The first rush from the rink to the manhole is bad enough. Between the clouded sky, the ash from destroyed buildings, and the hour, it’s growing dark, the streets full of shadows, but that doesn’t camouflage them well enough from their enemies. Casey leads the way and April helps shepherd the stream of young hockey players through the manhole, one by one. Half of the line gets through before a mob of husks makes its way down the alley to them, and then April is fully occupied; she shoos two kids down the ladder and raps the arm of a husk reaching for a twelve-year-old boy, the iron edge of her fan smacking dully into the altered flesh. With a spin, she puts herself between the child and the enemy, and she shouts “Go!” even as she slices at its throat. She’s aware of the kid scrambling away behind her; with precise sweeps of her fan, she severs the neck of the husk in front of her, the blue glow of the cybernetics that animate it fading from its eyes.

 

In the press of combat, and the smoky dimness of the alley, April can’t see the turtles, but she can hear them. The familiar thump, slash, and whir of their weapons, and their occasional calls to each other (” _Coming your way!_ ” “ _Behind you!_ ”) are reassuringly ordinary, in spite of the newness of the foe they’re facing. For most people, she reflects in a wry moment, this wouldn’t be normal at all, but for her? Concentrating on the familiar rhythms of combat is almost calming, no matter how much her muscles burn.

 

There are only half a dozen kids left to go through the manhole when hulking shapes appear at the mouth of the alley, differently shaped than the husks, and a moment later April ducks as a volley of gunfire comes down the alley. She opens her mouth to shout a warning, no matter how unnecessary, but from somewhere in the haze Leo is already calling, “Down! Get down, into the tunnel, _now_!”

 

April turns to hurry the last few kids along, with Kate, who’s bringing up the rear, practically shoving the last of the teenagers down the ladder. Kate jumps after, avoiding the ladder entirely, hitting the ground below with a thud and a grunt, and April slides down the ladder as fast as she can. She whirls out of the way to clear the base of the ladder just before Mikey comes shooting down with a whoop, followed rapidly by his brothers, and Leo slams the manhole cover back into place behind him. “Everybody all right?” April calls, bringing up the light on her omni-tool.

 

She gets a chorus of affirmative responses and her breath goes out in a whoosh of relief. The yellowish light from the tool doesn’t reveal much as she gives everyone an anxious once-over, casting deep shadows over everyone’s faces. No one seems to have anything worse than minor cuts and bruises, though. Donnie gives her a smile when their glances meet. Catching her breath again, April turns to face the rest of the cluster of wide-eyed teenagers.

 

From there, at least, things go more smoothly. It just takes a long time—they have to go on foot, which makes April grateful that the kids are in good shape. Smaller groups split off as they approach the agreed-upon safe locations. Each group, as much as they can, will scout out their neighborhoods over the next few days, preparing for a rendezvous to exchange information and supplies in a day or two or three. Casey and April and the turtles accompany each group, to make sure they reach their destination without harm. Sometimes, when they peer aboveground, they find the streets virtually empty; sometimes there is scattered fighting or the roar of nearby fires. At the fourth stop there is heavy fighting, with a mass of husks mixed with struggling humans filling the street. This is Nick’s neighborhood, and since he wades in without hesitation, shouting to some people he recognizes, the rest of them follow suit. It takes a few minutes, April thinks—she always finds it hard to tell how much time is passing during a fight—to clear enough space for Nick and his charges to get out of the street, and another few minutes to manage their own retreat. As they’re heading back to the manhole, she hears Donnie let out a sharp exclamation. April looks toward him, startled, but he doesn’t seem to be in pain; instead he’s shifted his staff to one hand and has something small in the other. April takes a step toward him, confused, and so clearly hears him say, “Shepard? Is that you?”

 

She blinks as she realizes. It’s the communicator. The little communicator that he mocked up out of stolen ( _liberated_ , he usually says) parts, the other end of which they handed off to Shepard months ago. April stops in her tracks, jaw dropping, and has to shake herself out of it. She’s glad the husks were pushed back far enough not to take advantage of her momentary distraction. Leo and Raph and Casey between them have cut through the ones near her position, though, and April cuts over to help guard Donnie’s currently vulnerable left side, as he says, “Little busy here, but we’re fine.”

 

It’s a short exchange, and she can only hear one end of it as she keeps a watchful eye. “Where are you?” Donnie asks, and then “... fantastic! Can’t really talk now, I’m afraid... yeah. Talk later. Good.” Donnie slips the communicator back into his belt as the rest of the group returns to them. “She’s fine,” he says, sounding both bewildered and relieved.

 

“Who’s fine? Move!” Leo is all but pushing them back down the ladder, especially Raph, who has one hand clamped to his opposite shoulder. Donnie notices once they hit the ground below, and rounds on him with a scowl.

 

“What happened, Raph, let me see?”

 

“It’s fine! One of them tried to take a bite out of me. Don’t think it liked the taste.” Raph gives one of his usual smug grins.

 

Donnie sighs. “Let me look at it.”

 

“It’s fine, Donnie, quit hovering.”

 

“Yeah, because bite wounds never get infected. Let me at least slap some medi-gel on it.”

 

Raph submits with an eye-roll while Donnie glares at the gash on his shoulder and finds a dose of medi-gel in another belt pouch. “Shepard called,” he adds.

 

“Shepard?” says Leo, eyes widening. “Is she all right?”

 

“Yeah, she got out of Vancouver.” Donnie applies the medi-gel and puts the container away. “She’s off-planet—headed to the Citadel.”

 

“Sweet,” Mikey says. “She’s gonna come back with, like, a whole fleet, right?”

 

“That’s the hope,” says Donnie, fidgeting a little. His expression is guarded; like April, he pays more attention to galactic politics than most of the others. They both know it probably won’t be that simple.

 

“Wait, are you talking about Commander Shepard?” Kate has come up behind them, looking stark and pale in the omni-tool flashlights.

 

“Yeah,” says MIkey, with airy confidence. “She’s totally the best, and she’s going to get help!”

 

Several of the kids perk up a bit at that. Most of them are leaning against the walls of the tunnel.

 

“ _The_ Commander Shepard?” Kate repeats.

 

In spite of her fatigue, April finds a wry smile on her face. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

 

“How can you possibly be talking to her?” Maricruz demands.

 

April glances at the guys, and before anyone can start into the explanation, says, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Hmm,” Maricruz says. “We’ve got a long walk already.”

 

April lets out a tired little laugh. “True enough, but let’s get moving.”

 

#

 

It’s late when they finally get back to the lair, after depositing the last group of kids at their destination. Casey’s staying aboveground with them, after a brief, low-voiced conversation with Raph that leaves the latter stormy but apparently resigned. The lair still has power, thanks to Donnie’s generators, and the brightness seems out of place, far too ordinary for the day they’ve had. April’s head is pounding, and she gratefully succumbs when Splinter wordlessly tugs her into a hug. He hugs each of his sons in turn, as well, a more overt display of affection than normal. They are all drooping and exhausted by this point; April pushes herself on regardless, helping bandage everyone’s cuts and scrapes. None of them are badly hurt, fortunately, but she knows this is only the beginning, and has to restrain herself from wondering how much blood they’ll end up shedding. Leo recounts the day’s events to Splinter in a low voice, seemingly staying upright through sheer force of will. Donnie is muttering to himself about how to provide working communications to their dispersed group of allies. It makes April think about friends still unaccounted-for: Irma, Angel, Murakami-san, others they didn’t have time to seek out today. She can’t regret helping Casey and his hockey team, though. Raph is silent and Mikey, too, is uncharacteristically subdued, eyelids drooping, as they have tea and something to eat, all of them sitting around the kitchen table with slumped shoulders. April wonders how long they’ll be able to get fresh vegetables; there are plenty of canned and frozen and freeze-dried supplies, but the perishables won’t hold out long.

 

Leo clears his throat and says, “Listen. We should all get some rest.”

 

“Those things are still up there,” Raph mutters. Occasionally they can feel a faint rumble, the herald of continuing destruction up top.

 

“I know, but... look.” Leo braces his hands on the table and looks around the room to meet each set of eyes in turn, waiting until he has everyone’s attention. “This isn’t the usual skirmishing with the Foot or the gangs. This is war.” He takes a breath. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been at war. It’s just the first time the rest of the planet has been at war along with us. Shepard warned us. We know the Reapers won’t stop, and we know this is going to be a long haul. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. We’re not going to be able to stick it out and we’re not going to do anyone any good if we wear ourselves out. We have to pace ourselves. That goes for all of us,” he says, making the rounds again, staring at Donnie until he nods and then at Raph until he sighs, looking heavenward, and actually makes eye contact. Leo continues in a firmer voice. “That means we get enough rest and food and we look out for each other, okay? And then we can look out for the rest of the city.”

 

“Good speech, bro,” Mikey says. “I was gonna be all ‘we fight for our future’ or something.” He breaks off into a tremendous yawn.

 

Leo gives a half smile. “That too. I’m serious, though.”

 

“We get it,” Raph says without heat. “So fine, let’s hit the sack. That means you, too, dork, whatever gadget you want to invent can wait until morning.”

 

Donnie sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Wish I could build us a whole QEC hub, but it was hard enough to get the one set of quantum-entangled particles.”

 

“It would come in handy,” Leo agreed, dryly. “You doing okay, April?”

 

She straightens, aware that she was starting to nod off. “Yeah. It’s better down there. There’s a lot of—” She blows out a breath, because it’s always hard to describe what she senses. “—distressed noise up there.” She presses her fingers against her temple. The ache has faded, but there’s still a muddy sense of mass fear and anger pounding in her skull.

 

“Hmm,” Splinter says. “Perhaps we should try some new meditation techniques tomorrow, to help alleviate the problem.”

 

April nods, too tired for more words, and they store what little they didn’t eat and put out the lights. Their feet drag as they head to their rooms, moving slowly, as if they don’t want to separate.

 

In the room she shares with Donnie, she turns as soon as he follows her in and wraps her arms around him, familiar and solid. She clings as hard as she can, in spite of the edges of shell digging into her arms.

 

“April,” he murmurs, his voice sounding deeper when she has one ear pressed to his chest, “are you all right?”

 

“Yes,” she says, just barely holding back a sob, “just... I’m glad you came for me.”

 

His arms tighten around her. Carefully, because he’s always careful with her. “Always. You know that.”

 

“This is only the first day,” she whispers.

 

“I know,” he says, and his voice is shaking too.

 

It’s a relief, on the night of this worst day, this first day of the war, to finally be able to hold on to him as hard as she can, and be held in turn. Shepard might be going for help, but there’s no telling when it will come, how many days they’ll have to hold. She feels an uneasy prickling at the thought of the charges they took on that day, Casey and his friends and players, and the other friends they haven’t found yet. But they can’t hunker down and sit by. It’s not what they do, what any of them do. They’ll fight until the end because, now, of all times, surrender is simply not an option.

 

In the meantime, all they can do is hold on.


End file.
